Amouge Bat 1
"Your suffering is a gas leak," she says, stroking my quills. Her wing twitching as her face gets closer to mine. Her breath hot on my lips, like an air hand dryer in a truckstop bathroom. "I lose time, I forget what I'm doing in it, and I'll either learn something valuable here or end up dead."
"If only that exhaust pipe of yours had a fucking muffler," I say, trying to brave my way through the hotness in my cheeks. Both kinds.
"Motor metaphor," she muses, sneering into a head tilt. Like a guitarist in an early 2000's numetal band. "Is it time to start cranking my hog?"
"Crank it you filthy slut."
"Why don't you crank it for me," she says, settling into my lap. Her erection pressed hard against my belly.
Call her bluff. "Untie me."
"And get beat to death with a hammer again?" She scoffs. "Not this time. Which body part should I take next?"
"My toes, sis," I reckon her reckoning.
"Good choice," she says, fetching the Device. "They'll look best removed and your art will flourish."
Will it ever.